


dance with the devil

by rainmcfae



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:26:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainmcfae/pseuds/rainmcfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times China has seen death, but it is not until the third time that he truly understands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dance with the devil

The first time he sees her, he is still a child.  
  
Everywhere, there is war and bloodshed, and China has never felt so much pain in his life. His people are falling dead around him, and he can do nothing but stare with wide, scared eyes and bear the hurt. And that is when he sees her.  
  
She is pale and ephemeral, terrifying and beautiful. She is cloaked in darkness and light, and long, inky hair flows into shadow behind her. Her obsidian eyes are deep and unfathomable, her gaze sending jolts of fear and calm and curiosity through China’s veins, and even at his young age he knows - this is Death.  
She steps closer, and vaguely China registers the fact that the pain has numbed. What he clearly register is that this woman - Death - is stepping closer and closer and he is freezing and burning and dying but he has never felt so  _alive_ -  
  
“Am I going to die?”  
  
The words slip unbidden from his lips, and he gapes a little in surprise, his hands flying over his mouth. She is close now, all luminance and shadow, and for a second she, her midnight eyes widening, is surprised too. And then she  _laughs_ , and it is a sound of fire and ice, of order and chaos, of joy and sorrow.  
  
“Not yet, little one,” she whispers. A shadow of a smile graces her lips. “Not yet.  
  
-And then she is gone, and China is left to bear the pain alone once more.  
  
—  
  
The second time he sees her, he welcomes the sight.  
  
He barely sees her at all at first. Opium courses through his veins, and wounds - hundreds,  _thousands_  of them - cover his body as the imperial powers storm through his lands, looting and steal and killing. Everything seems to be a haze, but though the opium dulls his senses, he still feels the pain, feels like he is dying - but that, China supposes, is why she is here.  
  
It is strange, he thinks, how even though this is only their second encounter, he feels like she is so familiar - an old friend. He does not fear her, not anymore; now, her presence is almost a relief.  
  
She hovers by the bed where China lies, and even through the pain he finds the strength to give her a small, tired smile.  
  
“Hello,” he whispers, his voice weak and breathy. He pauses, blinks as he tries to clear his sight of the drug-induced fog. “Is it time?”  
  
She smiles, and it almost seems - or perhaps it is just the opium? - like she is sad. “Not yet,  _Zhongguo_ ,” she says once more. “Not yet.”  
  
Her hand lands gently on his cheeks, and it is cold again the burn of his wounds, of the pain. It is almost soothing, and unconsciously he leans into the touch with a light sigh. “Then when?”  
  
 _When will the pain end, when will this finally be over?_  
  
Her hand remains for a moment more before she pulls it away. “I’m sorry,” she replies softly as her figure slowly begins to fade. “I don’t know.”  
  
He only sighs tiredly as she disappears and he drifts out of consciousness.  
  
—  
  
The third time he sees her, he realizes it is not the third time at all.  
  
Because Death has always been there, in the corner of his eye, a possibility present even in the best of times. That is why it seems like she is so familiar, like she has been there all his life - because she  _has_ , because Death is never truly gone. It is only when he walks the line between life and death, though, that he sees her clearly - in the bloodstained, war-torn days of his childhood, in the time of imperialism.  
  
And now, as his people as swept up in civil war. It is almost ironic, China thinks, that he has lived thousands of years, lived through upheaval and invasion and betrayal only to be brought back to the brink to death by two mere mortal men who have pulled his people into their struggle for power ( _but then again, he supposes, that is how the world works, isn’t it?_ ). He is not at war with England, or Japan, or any of the other of the colonial powers this time, but with  _himself_ , and it is killing him from the inside.  
  
She stands a distance away, cold and silent, but China meets her eyes ( _they were so unfathomable, once, but now they seem so clear_ ) and he sees - she knows, knows he understands.  
  
 ** _It is still not time._**  The words do not need to be said; the question - through really, it is almost a statement - is clear in his eyes. She smiles, and this time he knows, he can see that it is an expression of sadness and pity and remorse.  
  
 _ **Not yet, my friend. Not yet.**_  
  
He only smiles back, wanly. Not yet - but one day. One day, he knows, it will be time, and he is not afraid.  
  
 ** _You are immortal_** , they say.  ** _You will live forever._**  
  
He laughs, and it is a sound of fire and ice, of order and chaos, of joy and sorrow.  
  
There is no such thing as forever.  
 _  
_

**Author's Note:**

> Part One - referencing the Era of Warring States, though it could be any time in China’s early history when it was divided into many kingdoms.  
> Part Two - referencing the intrusion of the European powers (and Japan) into China during the Qing dynasty, the Opium trade/wars, and the various unequal treaties that pretty much meant the Europeans could do whatever they wanted  
> Part Three - referencing the civil war in China in the late 1920s to 1949, when the PRC was established; the two men mentioned are Chiang Kai-Shek and Mao Zedong


End file.
